Afghanistan

I dreamt last night that JDBman was sent to Afghanistan for his third tour. And that he died there. And that there was no one to tell me he died. Until I went there and met the man who killed him (I know that that part is ridiculously unrealistic, but it was a dream). I woke up crying. Again ridiculous.

I went back to sleep. I dreamt that I faced these men in Afghanistan and I wept in front of them. I wept their own pain. I wept their anger. I felt none of my own emotion. This frustrated me.

The frustration stems from the fact that I am more comfortable loving men who kill my friends and letting them know that I love them, than I am telling my friends that I love them. It's bizarre. Maybe it's more than bizarre. Maybe it's wrong. Maybe it's cowardice. Maybe it's everything I tell myself that I am not.

Regardless, this has me thinking about things. Where is the line between my own cowardice and wanting to be pursued? Is it more important to keep my mouth shut and know that I am wanted or to open my mouth and know that courage in love is greater than fear of rejection. I've never asked myself this question before. Because I have always assumed it was wrong for me to consider it.

Meh, the petty meanderings of a single girl. How I love that these things are not the end of the world.